


So Much Younger Than My Years

by redqueentheory



Series: I'm With the Band [21]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Conversations, Biting, Fingers in Mouth, Grinding, Groping, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redqueentheory/pseuds/redqueentheory
Summary: Kravitz makes a plan. Brad goes on a date. Taako is absent, but there anyway.





	So Much Younger Than My Years

If Kravitz is being fair - an indulgence he extends to Taako more often than it's truly deserved - he has to admit that Taako _did_ warn him. Told him, abrupt and without a great deal of eye contact, that he'd given Lup "a heads up about the whole..." and gestured at their bedroom, weakly, "Brad, sitch." When pressed, he hadn't given much more detail, but just insisted he wanted Kravitz to be prepared for her questions.

So it isn't as though Kravitz wasn't _expecting_ this, it's just that if their positions had been reversed he probably would have waited until the _end_ of the job, rather than starting the conversation while both of them are knee-deep in slime and viscera.

"So, you gotta give me more deets on this... thing, you and my brother are doing," Lup tells him, and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, presumably to try to remove the lurid green streak of - intestinal fluid? Kravitz has lost track of the anatomy he's seen this afternoon.

"I think he'd object to being called a thing," Kravitz murmurs, as he nudges unidentifiable creature parts into a neat pile with the end of the scythe. He chuckles a little at Lup's eyeroll. "It escapes me why you haven't just shown up at the Bureau and done the 'overprotective sibling who also works for Death Herself' performance."

"Yeah see, normally I'd be down to interrogate, but," she chews her lip, "I don't wanna... I'm kinda a lot."

"You don't say," Kravitz says, bland.

Lup points at him. "Like you can talk, Gothsicle."

Kravitz chooses not to dignify that with a response. "Is there any reason you can't just ask Taako?"

"He's dodging me," she complains. "I thought I was getting somewhere for a bit last weekend, but-"

"You're not normally the type to be dissuaded by a difficult quarry," Kravitz says, gesturing to encompass the field of severed monster around them. The majority of the gore is hers, after all. "And quite frankly I'm not delighted by the idea of describing my sex life to my sister-in-law."

Lup scrunches up her nose. "You don't need to give me the blow-by-blow-"

"Please don't," calls Barry, from the other side of the field, where he's busy stacking limbs.

"-but I just wanna..." she trails off, sighs. "Hey, look, I just want to know he's all right."

He's perfectly all right, Kravitz thinks, rueful for some reason he can't quite get his head around. "He's fine."

Lup looks him in the eye for a moment, and Kravitz holds her gaze. They're similar, of course, but all he can see is the ways she _isn't_ Taako, which is lucky for him, because he’d crumple like tissue paper against that look otherwise.

"All right," she says. "Good." And then, like an afterthought, "Are you?"

He's caught off guard by it. "I'm - of course?"

"Only Taako's selfish," she says, frankly. "And like, let's be clear, still don't care about you and the flock's little games, but I'm not an idiot. This," and she points at him again, "would get suuuuuper fucking awkward if you and my brother fought because of some orc you're boning."

" _This_ is going to be even more awkward when my _boyfriend_ finds out his _sister_ tried to quiz me about the internal dynamics of the relationship with our-“ And he falters, because there isn't a word. Kravitz knows very well what Brad is to Taako, and Taako is to Brad - he's seen how they look at eachother - but his own relationship with Brad is new and fragile and so liable to being swamped by Taako that he can't really think of what to call it.

“...Lover." And then, because he's unbalanced, "And the collective noun for a group of ravens is an unkindness."

"No shit," Lup says. "You're a nerd, Kravitz."

"I'm reliably informed that it's charming."

"By your mom?"

"Hey," Barry intervenes, as Kravitz bristles. "Just get him in the room with you, you know he’ll talk.”

She sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I just don’t want to… you know. Get in the way of things. You guys probably have gross sex plans on Friday already, right?”

"No, no, we haven’t organised anything,” he says absently. He's sure there was _something_ \- nothing with Brad, he would definitely remember that, but-

And then it all resolves itself in Kravitz' mind, and the obvious opportunity presents itself, clear as day. An event their local brunch place has been advertising for months, which he's been dying to go. Taako's aggressive disinterest has proved an insurmountable barrier, and it's no fun going to mortal events by himself, but if Taako's busy-

"I'm sure he'd be overjoyed to have an evening where no-one will judge him for ordering a jug of frozen daiquiri all for himself,” Kravitz says.

"Why would you judge him for that?"

"Friday it is," Barry says, cheerfully. "She'll pick him up at 5:30."

"You'll beat me there," Kravitz says, waves a hand, his own Friday evening clear in his mind. "But please, that sounds perfect."

~

Kravitz raises it over tea, of all things; perched on the couch, bookended by cats, a scene so domestic it feels like he should be asking about their weekend brunch plans. Although he probably is, in a way.

"While you're out with your sister I thought I'd spend some time with Brad," Kravitz says, casual, but Taako sees through it immediately and snorts, waves his hand.  
  
"You wanna get to know the guy, huh? Like biblically, I get it, you wanna climb him like a tree, it's hard not t-"  
  
"Yes," Kravitz interrupts, gently, and takes Taako's hands in his own. "I think we'll probably have sex."  
  
Taako swallows. "I'm - you sure do just say it like that, huh, it's..." trails off, then heaves a sigh. "Really hot, actually, shit."  
  
"I want to just talk to him, too," Kravitz forges on, determined. "Have a drink, make small talk. Is that-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Taako says, and if there's a spark of something wistful on his face, Kravitz puts it down to what Lup insists he call "FOMO", despite his disdain for ugly acronyms. "You should." 

~

Taako insists that he gets about in disguise because he's worried about being recognised, but for Kravitz at least part of it is the joy of being mysterious. The turned heads and whispered exclamations in most places they go don't faze him the way they do Taako, but he also has to admit there's something thrilling about avoiding them; every time he successfully saunters past someone without drawing more than a brief uninterested glance, there's a little jolt that runs down his spine. Which is a lovely sensation, settling nicely in beside the flickering  little curl of anticipation he's been courting for the last few days. He thinks distantly that he probably should have done this earlier but - things got away from him.

It’s odd, stalking the corridors of the Bureau without Taako, without even intending to _see_ Taako. Stranger still when he considers what he’s here to do.

Their conversation hadn't explicitly covered "sneak into the Bureau to propose an evening plan", but Kravitz trades enthusiastically in the dramatic. He would have done the same for Taako, he reasons, so this surely falls within the boundaries of what's allowed.

His internal map of the Bureau is still accurate, but he’d never paid attention to personnel - so when he rounds the corner to Brad’s office and sees a frankly intimidating tiefling seated at a desk outside the room, the nonchalant act falters. It takes him a good half-second to plaster a smile onto his face.

The tiefling raises her eyebrows. “Are you lost?”

“Not at all,” Kravitz says, too brightly. “I’ve an appointment.”

The woman - she must be a secretary of some sort - looks unmoved. “Mr Bradson doesn’t make appointments over lunch. And there’s certainly nothing in the calendar.” She doesn’t, Kravitz notes, have the calendar open.

“Oh, it’s very last minute,” Kravitz says, nodding. “My availability is quite fraught.”

There’s a long moment of eye contact where he thinks the jig is up. He’s about to stammer out an apology and flee - it’s not as though he can break the tension by summoning a scythe and issuing a damning spiel about death criminals - but then the woman sighs, flicks her fingers towards the door, and goes back to whatever magazine she’s leafing through. “Well, off you go, then.”

“Charmed,” says Kravitz, concentrating with all his might on keeping his approach casual as he crosses the room and sidles carefully through the open door of Brad’s office, waits a beat, and clears his throat.

It’s - very close to what he’s envisioned from Taako’s confessions, actually; quite similar to Kravitz’ own office, except for the musky smell of the living in the air, threaded through with the subtle, metallic tang of wards. And the presence of an extremely startled orc, who somehow still manages to look imposing, even with his glasses halfway down his nose and a very dull sheaf of paperwork spread out on the desk in front of him.

“Hello,” Kravitz says. Presses the door shut, leans back against it. “You know, it’s the funniest thing, I ran across an actual book of stamps at work this morning and I thought, I know who’ll appreciate this.” And he juts his hips forward a little, because he’s shameless. Brad’s eyes dip to the waistband of his jeans for the tiniest sliver of a second, but it’s enough for triumph to flicker to life in Kravitz’ belly. “Are you interested?" 

“I could be,” Brad rumbles. Leans back in his chair. “Tell me about it.”

Kravitz can't deny the rush of leaning into the mechanics of a body in moments like these; even manufactured, there's something very pleasant about a quickening heartbeat, a swirl of nerves, the quiver of his voice when he says, "Ancient, potentially very, but in good condition."

A hum. Brad places his pen neatly on the desk, square with the edge of his papers. "That does sound very interesting. How would I go about getting my hands on it?"

Kravitz smiles - the kind of smile that he weaponises against disgruntled townsfolk and old ladies - and makes his way across the room, slow. Brad's eyes track him, but he doesn't move again. "That probably depends on what you intend to do with it."

Brad smiles too, then, but it's a different creature entirely - sharp and proprietary. "Whatever I like," he says. And suddenly Kravitz is moving forward not of his own accord, but because something in him is eagerly responding to the pull of Brad's eyes and words and the way his posture shifts from casual to commanding, so easy.

There’s a _directness_ to it that Kravitz finds deeply appealing; part of a game, true, but even that is so openly and clearly established, rules defined and discussed, that it’s completely foreign to him. Foreign and very, very pleasant. 

In the spirit of directness, he walks straight into Brad’s space; leans in, a crackle of electricity flying over his skin at the realisation he doesn’t even need to bend down. Presses a messy kiss to the corner of Brad’s mouth, which gets him a pair of solid hands around his waist.

"I don't want to discourage initiative," Brad murmurs against his mouth, thumbing at Kravitz' hip, "but was this really sufficiently urgent to justify tearing through the planes?"

"I wanted to say hello," Kravitz says, and his voice honest-to-Istus _wobbles_ , which is just ridiculous, but Brad is _right there_ and so _solid_ and the prospect of this appointment somehow proceeding in the manner of any of the stories he's wrung out of Taako has him hard in his jeans already. "It's Friday, Taako's abandoning us, why not get started early?"

Brad frowns, the barest flash of a thing. "Taako is-"

"Otherwise occupied," Kravitz says, and he's about to leave it at that for the melodrama but sees the frown deepen and changes course. "He's going to drinks with his sister. Surely you wouldn't expect me to twiddle my thumbs at home alone when I could-" He noses in to mouth at Brad's jaw in lieu of being obvious.

"Drop in on me out of nowhere like you own the place." Brad's tone is chiding, but gently, so Kravitz runs with it.

"I'm just renting," he says. "By the hour."

"You came to my office and interrupted my work for sex," Brad says.

It's too good an opportunity for Kravitz to pass up. He looks up at Brad from underneath his lashes. "Ought I have invited you to my office, instead?"

Brad's poker face is remarkable; his expression doesn't even twitch, although there's a light in his eyes that tells Kravitz he's laughing at the joke. "We need to talk through some ground rules." Before Kravitz can protest, there's a blunt fingertip at his lips; it slides between them, between his teeth. And then he tugs, and Kravitz slides onto his lap, straddling an incredibly solid thigh with something approaching glee.

“What is it exactly you were planning for this afternoon?” Brad says, measured. His finger slips from Kravitz' mouth with a soft, wet noise.

Kravitz shrugs one-shouldered. “I thought I’d just check in and see how things went.”

“Cute,” Brad says, “but I’m afraid you’re going to need to be explicit.” Kravitz laughs, softly, and shrugs. Brad is smiling, but it’s faint, and all promise. “All right. How about what you were hoping for?”

Honestly, Kravitz had hoped for less talking, but he can’t really deny how all the discussions have him ready to slide out of his own skin with excitement. He rocks a little against Brad’s thigh with a small noise and a bitten lip. “Plenty, plenty of hopes. Um. Taako told me about some of what you two used to get up to in here. It all sounded very nice.”

"Nice," Brad repeats. He's pushing up just a little on his toes in time with Kravitz' movement, pressing his thigh into Kravitz' groin. "That's not what I'd call it. Usually explicitly not-nice."

"Explicitly not-nice sounds good, too," Kravitz says breathlessly. "Very pleased to engage in any sort of not-nice behaviour you'd like."

Brad takes him by the chin, then; grip hard enough to bruise, tipping his head back to expose his throat. It's uncomfortable, being held like that, and Kravitz revels in it, in the rake of Brad's eyes down the column of his neck. The careful way he leans in, the way Kravitz can almost feel teeth on his skin before they hit. The ridiculous mortal shudder that races over him when Brad murmurs "I'm going to need you to spell it out, sweetheart," against his skin; so close he can feel Brad's breathing. Kravitz realises his eyes have fallen shut, and Brad's mouth skates over his fake pulse, a drag of tusks and lips. It sends his control entirely sideways; he realises distantly that he's moaning, can't quite seem to get himself to shut up.

"I, uh, I want- gods, Brad, you could do anything at this point," he manages, shocked by how thick the words come out. "Would you - it's only, I- I want to feel the hair-pulling again, if you'd-"

He doesn't have to finish; Brad's hand slides up into his hair and pulls backwards, hard. And then he bites, too; the sudden shock of it on his neck, unbearably sensitised, makes Kravitz cry out and grind down on Brad’s leg in earnest, panting, and then whining as Brad laves his tongue over the bite.

And then he’s being firmly lifted, pushed onto his feet, pressed backward to put very unwelcome space between him and the orc he’d nearly come in his pants for. He’s confused, at first, but then Brad turns back to his desk and picks up his pen and looks for all the world as though he’s about to _settle back down with the accounts-_

The betrayal is unconscionable. He's unbalanced for the second time that week, staggering back towards Brad, who holds him at bay without looking at him. "Wh-what are you _doing_ -"

"I told you," Brad says, voice impossibly steady, the only sign that he was affected by any of it the too-rapid rise and fall of his chest. "We need to talk through some ground rules." He points at the chair on the other side of the desk. "Sit."

Kravitz gapes at him, and then the reality of the trap sets in. "You- but this is so _cruel_ -"

"That's the nature of this arrangement," Brad says, and points at the chair again. Kravitz totters over to it, unsteadily, fake breathing still all over the place. "The first rule is that you don't zap into my office unexpectedly. And for that matter how did you even manage that? The place is supposed to be warded."

Kravitz laughs, a little weakly, still wildly distracted by the pulse of his blood to his dick, now uncomfortably trapped in his clothes. "I, I didn't _zap_ here. I navigated the building in the conventional way. For fun."

"Fun," Brad repeats. And then looks uncomfortable, all of a sudden. "Did you - did you speak to my-"

"Secretary?" Kravitz supplies. "I did. She's very territorial, did you know that? I had to do some pretty fast talking, considering I couldn't rely on the whole, 'don't you know who I am' schtick."

"I can almost guarantee she knows who you are," Brad says, his discomfort even clearer, all traces of the role vanished. He passes a hand over his face. "I would have had to talk to her eventually, but it's going to be much more awkward than if I'd - Kravitz, you can't just do this sort of thing without talking to me about it first."

"Taako said-"

"The arrangement with Taako was _not_ a good model," Brad says, voice softened by regret. "And Charity already knew what was going on."

"I can gently nudge her memory in another direction if you like,' Kravitz says, and wiggles his fingers.

"No," Brad says, forceful. "Definitely not. I won't lie to-"

"Technically, it isn't-"

"No," Brad repeats. "I won't interfere with minds. I'm serious about this." He holds eye contact, and Kravitz looks away first.

"All right," Kravitz says, filing this away to mull over later. He is, he realises, unused to navigating the list of extended family and friends that people who aren't Taako usually have. "I apologise, I didn't intend to-"

Brad waves away the apology. "It's all right." A faint smile. "You've generally been very good."

"Does that mean you don't actually have any other rules," Kravitz asks, sweetly.

"Am I right in assuming your book of stamps doesn't actually exist," Brad counters, and the faint look of disappointment on his face when Kravitz nods is _truly_ charming, enough to make up for the tease. Almost.

"I assure you if anything similar comes up I will immediately appropriate it for you," Kravitz tells him, trying not to sound too fond. "But in exchange for the potentially grievous workplace violation of stealing pointless bric-a-brac from criminals, you'll have to do something for me, yes? I know you're a fan of the quid pro quo."

"Such as?"

Kravitz affects a contemplative look. "Accompanying me to a social engagement, perhaps. Something like the neighbourhood cafe's open mic night." And then surprise, wildly exaggerated. "Wouldn't you know it's on _tonight_? What timing."

Brad leans back in his chair, clearly amused by this little performance. "This is a very belaboured way to ask someone on a date, Kravitz."

He waves that away, steeples his fingers. "The truth is, Taako's never been particularly keen, and he's busy with his family, so I…" Kravitz' instinct is immediately to skirt around the significance of this, downplay things to keep everything light and fun and superficial; he resists it, staring fiercely at the top of Brad's desk. "I'd just really... like to go. And I thought it would be nice to go with the very knowledgeable and interesting and attractive person I met at the Fangbattle house party. If he'd like to go, too."

He chances a look at Brad's face, and isn't really prepared for what he sees there - an entirely unguarded look, pleased and anticipatory. It's ridiculous for someone as old as Kravitz to be caught out by this, to be rendered shy and awkward about a _casual date_ , but he can't deny the elaborate game was all about building up to this, and-

Well, there's a lot riding on it.

"That sounds wonderful," Brad says, clear and genuine. "Of course."

"Good!" Kravitz says. Claps his hands. "Right, well, settled, I'll… do you want me to come and get you?"

"Please," Brad says, and half-smiles. "I'll need an overnight bag, and-"

"It starts at 7-"

They break off at the same time, and Kravitz laughs. "Why don't I just text you."

"That would be great," Brad says.

Kravitz nods, mock-solemnly, and climbs to his feet. "Right, well, I should be… I should go. Should I _zap_ out of here directly, or-"

A slightly muffled groan. "No, no, that'll make it worse. I'll talk to her once you leave. Just don't… be a smartass."

A mocking little bow. "I'll see you later." And he pauses, looks pointedly down at himself. "That's if I'm not rendered incapacitated by the state you've left me in."

"You'll survive," Brad tells him. "Be good."

The little thrill is back, compounded by all the frustrated arousal coursing through him, nowhere to go. "Yes, sir," he says as he backs out of the office, grinning.

~

A part of Brad's brain starts absently counting seconds after Kravitz leaves, and he hasn't quite hit double digits when the door opens again and Charity stalks into the office.

"What the fuck," she says, without preamble.

Brad sighs. "Before you tear me to pieces, I promise you it isn't what you think." Almost certainly true, because who could ever have thought things would go this way.

"Bradson," Charity says, all warning.

“We’re- involved," he says, and it's sort of funny, the look of utter shock on her face. He would have savoured it, any other time.

"You're _involved_ with Kravitz? The grim reaper Kravitz, emissary of a Goddess Kravitz, _Taako's boyfriend_ Kravitz? You're-"

"Yes," Brad says. "Both of them. Actually."

The shock has given way to a dubious sort of judgement. "Brad Bradson. Listen to yourself."

"I was surprised too," he says, dry. "I would have- I'd intended to explain to you differently, but-"

"Why _would_ you?" bursts out of her, and she looks as taken aback by her own vehemence as Brad feels, but presses on. "Brad, he was so- _you_ were so-" and then she visibly controls herself, takes a breath. "I'm worried about you."

And it's that deliberate and obvious choice to cross the line into explicitly personal that brings him back to his senses. They've always danced around their care for eachother, expressed it indirectly, couched in professionalism. Brad doesn't want to toy with that, because it's crucial, critical even; he values her too much where she is to let his personal feelings change the way they work together.

"I'm grateful," he says, brisk. "But I assure you I can manage it." And because he's not entirely heartless, "I have a great deal of project management and team leader experience, you see."

And she looks annoyed, but it’s the kind of annoyed that tells him she’s taken the brush off on board. "I can't believe you're joking about this. Do you understand what's going to happen to you when it hits the tabloids?"

Brad has been avoiding thinking about it. "Of course." 

She folds her arms. "You're not a person to court that sort of attention."

"I am not," he agrees.

A low whistle. "You're in deep."

There isn't much to say to that; Brad folds his hands on the desk, looks at her with as neutral an expression as he can manage. "Was there anything else?"

"I want to meet him," she says, abruptly. "I've got Taako figured out, but I need more than a ten-second shitty lie to get a read of Kravitz.”

The immediate instinct is to refuse, but Brad knows she'll wear him down and get what she wants eventually, and the longer she has to plan for the conversation the more likely she is to hone some sort of verbal barb into a deadly weapon. "I'll have him pick me up from here this evening."

Charity says nothing, just gives him a satisfied look as she makes her way back out of the office, and Brad feels it's necessary to call out "please be nice," to her retreating frame. She laughs at him, but it's warm, and he lets it go.

~

Brad doesn't much like spending work time making personal calls, but once the immediate twin upsets of Kravitz' visit and Charity's lecture wear off, he knows he has to call Taako and have a painfully awkward conversation. At least he doesn't have any actual meetings that afternoon. 

Any other time he might dwell on how quickly Taako picks up, but he's too focused on the strangeness of the situation.

"Hey big guy," Taako says, with the particular timbre of someone horizontal. "What's up?"

The part of Brad which insists he should exchange pleasantries loses out to the efficient planner. "Kravitz asked me to go to an open mic with him. Are you comfortable with that?" There's enough contained within that 'comfortable' that it feels trite, but other words seem dangerous.

"Huh," Taako says. "Figures." He doesn't _sound_ concerned. "First chance to get you alone, dude wants to monopolise the d. Who could blame him?" 

"Taako." He tries not to sound too stern, but it's probably a lost cause.

"Am I wrong?" And then a sigh, and Taako continues, all the archness stripped out. "Yeah, he mentioned he was gonna see if you were free. It's cool, of course it is."

"Of course," Brad says, slowly.

"Just-" he breaks off, and the silence stretches, cavernous.

"Just?"

"Shit, I dunno. Don't have too much fun without me?" Taako laughs, and if it's a little forced, Brad supposes the conversation probably wasn't what he expected. "Like, 90% max."

"I will only allow myself to have a nine-out-of-ten night without you," Brad says seriously. There's another long pause, but this one is broken by Taako laughing, surprised and genuine.

"You're such a fuckin' nerd," Taako tells him. "You're gonna stay over, I guess?"

It's casual, but Brad can parse the real question. "Yes."

"Okay," Taako says. "Cool. See you when I get home then, Bradson." He hangs up, and Brad's initial feeling of strangeness about this conversation heads into feeling strange generally about the enormity of the situation he's in; about having someone other than Taako showing up to his office like this, particularly someone so cheerfully agreeable; about how hugely things have shifted and yet remained constant.

He's still navel-gazing when he phone pings with a message which just reads _I'll pop by at 5:30. I can meet you out front of the building?_

He should probably explain the situation but Brad is done with awkward conversations for the time being. _My office is probably simpler._

 _Easily done!_  

"Well," he says to himself. And dives back into the budgets.

It swallows up the time until he has to leave - early, so he can go home and collect his things before coming back, which is inconvenient but can't be helped. At least the walk clears his head. He'd been caught off-guard by Kravitz, certainly, but the situation isn't critical, or a dealbreaker. And then he has to firmly bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself smiling foolishly about being asked on a date, of all things.

He hasn’t been on a real date in some time. It’s a little nerve-wracking, if he’s being honest, and he spends most of his walk back to his apartment and his time packing firmly talking himself out of having doubts about it. They’re just doing the same thing they did when they met at Killian and Carey’s party. Except in public. And now he knows who Kravitz is. 

“Stop it,” he tells himself firmly, shrugging into a plum and navy buttondown. Kravitz might be an undead bounty hunter, but he’s also a bad liar who was nervous about asking _Brad_ to go on a date, so-

He’d told Kravitz 5:30, and as he rounds the corner to his office, rolling up his sleeves, at exactly that time, Kravitz steps into the room out of nowhere; a sudden rush of air and a weird, cold feeling follow him out and then immediately dissipate.

The insanity of a whole string of his choices hits Brad all at once, but he just - shoves his hands into his pockets and nods at Kravitz. “Hello."

Kravitz is staring a little wild-eyed at Charity, and then darts a nervous glance back at Brad, who smiles wryly. “She asked to meet you,” Brad says.

"Don't look like that,” Charity says to Kravitz, impatient. “I know who you are."

"Ah," Kravitz says, weakly. "I take it my quick-witted falsehood wasn't quite as quick-witted as I thought."

Charity clucks her tongue. "Oh, honey," she says, with a syrupy mock-sympathy. "No. Not really."

"Be nice," Brad tells her, mild. She ignores him and folds her arms, pinning Kravitz with the sort of look normally reserved for keeping everyone else away from Brad completely.

Kravitz laughs a little hysterically, and says “I’ll have to keep practising, then.”

Charity stares at him a moment longer, and Kravitz is just starting to visibly squirm when she relents, sighs. “You’re better looking than you are in the papers.”

Kravitz looks startled, but still can’t seem to avoid preening a little. “Well, yes,” he says, which wins a snort from Charity.

She points at Brad. “You’ve got a type.”

“Handsome?” Kravitz suggests, regaining more of his composure. “Witty and charming?”

“High maintenance and difficult,” she says, sweetly, and flicks him on the nose with a pointy nail. Kravitz jumps, and she cackles at him. “All right, whatever, I’m going home. Enjoy your weekend, boss.”

“And you yours,” Brad says, and Charity waves as she leaves, without looking back at him. There’s a few seconds of silence, and Kravitz lets out a breath.

“Not often a puny mortal catches me quite that far off guard,” he says.

“Charity’s very effective,” Brad agrees. And then, “Puny?”

Kravitz sighs. “Habit, sorry. Between work and Taako’s _very_ small circle I don’t meet normal folk too often.” And he gives Brad a look, all banked fire, and says, “You, of course, are not puny at all. Shall we?”

Brad wants to pick at that a little more, but his office isn’t the right place for it. “Of course.”  So Kravitz extends his arm, and Brad takes it, and the weird, cold vertigo of the jump between planes washes over him almost too quickly to really process, and then he’s standing in the now-familiar entryway to Taako and Kravitz’ apartment.

“ _Right,_ ” Kravitz says. “Here, let me-“ and he deftly removes Brad’s satchel before swooping up the corridor with it. “I’ll just put this in the bedroom, I’ve got to change, you can-“ he points at the kitchen. “Help yourself!” And he disappears from view.

And Brad is left alone in Taako and Kravitz’ apartment. He fetches himself a glass of water, steals a chocolate from their ostentatious glassware, and props himself over the sink, absently watching the road.  Internally, he's picking at all the tiny things that have struck strange notes for him about Taako and how he behaves, how people talk about him. His obvious distaste for the instant recognition that must follow him everywhere; what Kravitz meant by his “very small” circle, and particularly what all this means for someone like Brad, who has an entirely ordinary number of family and friends who will probably want to meet the person - gods, people - he cares about, at some point. And how strangely all of this fits in with Taako’s stated purpose, now, to run a _school -_ which, he’s not an expert, but at a base level Brad would imagine some enthusiasm about funding applications and schmoozing and student engagement will be necessary, and-

“What are you doing?” he mutters to himself. Taako isn’t here. That’s not what this is about, except it is, of course, a little - even absent, he makes himself known. Despite the hundred years of personal history Brad now has burned into his brain, it’s what he knows about Taako from before that he keeps coming back to. Prickly, not particularly trusting, and it’s embarrassing to admit but Charity was right about ‘high maintenance and difficult’.

He has the wry thought that it might actually be easier to get to the bottom of Kravitz than it will be to untangle whatever is going on with Taako. Near-immortal who works for a deity or not. Although that’s a mystery, too - the way Kravitz talks about work makes it sound normal, mundane even, but that doesn’t really fit with what Brad knows about him, either - which is that he’s charming, odd, very good at music trivia, seems to have a flair for dramatic gestures but is nevertheless easily caught off guard.

And Brad is sufficiently fond to be making lists of his qualities already. He drains his glass of water, shakes his head.

“Hydrating? A good idea,” Kravitz says slyly from behind him. “What were you thinking about? That was a contemplative set of shoulders if I’ve ever seen one.”

Brad turns, leaning against the sink. Kravitz has somehow ended up in unfairly tight jeans and a leather jacket, which Brad feels to be just a _little_ unfair, but he's not going to make an issue out of it. “If I told you it was a list of your attractive qualities would you think I was flattering you or telling the truth?”

Kravitz laughs. “Oh, I don’t care,” he says, and it has the ring of absolute honesty to it. “I love being flattered. Shall we?”

It’s warm enough that they can walk with jackets over shoulders, and Brad follows along with Kravitz’ narration of their neighbourhood - which he’s only ever seen after dark or while he was significantly preoccupied - trying not to gauge whether every stranger they pass recognises them, or one of them. But his distraction must be obvious, because after five minutes Kravitz pauses and hip-checks him.

“What’s wrong?” Kravitz says. “Is my slightly fictionalised account of the local populace dragging?”

“I- are you worried?” Brad asks. May as well just put it out there. “About being recognised with someone other than Taako?”

“Are you planning on bending me over a table in public?” Brad chokes a little, and Kravitz continues, clearly amused. “Taako is the one everyone recognises. Nobody is going to look for Taako’s boyfriend with a handsome orc.”

Brad can’t really think of anything to say in response to that, but Kravitz places a hand flat on his arm. “Listen, Brad, if you’re worried, we can just sit up the back out of the light. That’s more romantic anyway.” He shrugs. “And if anyone tries to take your photo I’ll just kill them. I’ve got to make up some lost quota this month anyway.” He leans into Brad’s side. “That was a joke, to be clear.”

“A very smoothly delivered one,” Brad says. “Remind me not to annoy you.”

“You _couldn’t_ ,” Kravitz says, mock-horrified. “Look, here we are.”

It's a cafe, and it looks completely ordinary, and Brad has a moment of disorientation where he realises he was half expecting to end up... he's not sure. Somewhere fancy. There's a maze of timber chairs and patterned throw-rugs scattered haphazardly out the front of the building, and cheery warm lighting spangles out of the windows. There's a raised platform at the back of the room, some kind of stage, and the place is well on its way to being full.

"Let's sit near the window," Kravitz says to him, quiet. "If the music's dull we can people-watch.”

"You're not going to get up there?" Brad says. “Disappointing."

"I'll give you a private show later." He smirks, self-satisfied, and slips through the maze of chairs with a flashy sort of grace. Brad follows, trying not to think too hard on private shows of any sort - not yet at least.

Immediately inside the door, underneath the window, are a cluster of worn, low couches that very much remind Brad of student house furniture. Which - looking around - fits the general vibe. "Have you brought me to a young people's venue, Kravitz?" he says, dryly.

Kravitz has draped himself over one end of the couch and appears to be well on his way to settling into place for hours. He is, Brad notes, apparently able to make himself comfortable anywhere. "No, although I'd be more out of place than you, I'm the oldest person here," he says, stretching his arms over his head, exposing a band of skin between his belt and the hem of his shirt which Brad tries to look at without being too obvious about it. "Now are you going to buy me a drink or are you going to join me on this surprisingly pleasant seating?"

And then all of this seems very familiar, and Brad feels himself relax into the rhythm of it; anticipation stirs slowly in his blood, but it's the pleasant idle kind he'd felt when they first met, a gentle current. "What's your poison?"

"Whatever you're having," Kravitz says. "I'm curious about what you like."

Which is how Brad ends up watching the Raven Queen's emissary drinking a pint of red ale with open enthusiasm.

"This is good," Kravitz tells him. "Usually people assume I'm a wine drinker, but really, there's so many options it'd be dull to stick to one."

Brad studies him for a moment. "Why wine?"

"Oh, the whole... tortured poet aesthetic." He shrugs. "To be fair, that's all there usually is at our parties, but-"

"Parties?" Brad says, startled. "You have- as in, workplace... events, or-?"

Kravitz looks thoughtful. "That's probably a neat analogy, yes. They're extremely tiresome affairs, usually, loads of court intrigue and backhanded compliments. We're technically all competing, you see, so socialising is generally just an extension of that."

Brad feels a little bit unmoored, at that, and for a moment he thinks he should probably keep things light, but- but. Intense curiosity overwhelms him. "All right. I should - what do you actually do? I'm afraid I don't really understand it. And-“ He hesitates, but plows on. “You really don’t give the impression of being the grim reaper.”

Kravitz grins widely, and for a moment the slash of white teeth in his face looks startling, but it fades almost instantly. “You’ve not seen me in my work gear, then.” He sinks further into the couch, somehow. “I can assure you I can look very intimidating if the situation calls for it. Skeletons, monstrous form, booming voice, the whole shebang.”

“Are you sure,” Brad says, doubtful, “that that’s intimidating?”

Kravitz punches him lightly on the arm, and Brad allows himself a faint smile. “Look, we’re essentially contract killers. Bounty hunters. The rest of the time it’s about jostling for position in the court, because the more the Raven Queen likes you the better the work you get.” Brad, at this point, is ready to fire off about ten more questions in quick succession, and Kravitz must see it in his eyes because he leans forward and presses a finger into Brad’s chest. “Right, I’ve answered that question, we can alternate. What do _you_ do? Taako mostly described it as though your job was to annoy him.”

“That was more of a hobby,” Brad says, deadpan. Kravitz snorts inelegantly and taps his glass to Brad’s. “I’m supposedly in charge of resourcing-“

“Human resources, apparently, which seemed limited-“

“Amusing to have an orc in charge of it, yes,” Brad agrees. “But I’ve ended up doing logistics too, which… is very dull, you don’t want me to describe-“

“I beg to differ,” Kravitz says. “I want to know, I’m _very_ interested in you.”

Brad can’t help a small laugh; he’s not used to being the focus of such straightforward interest, but he’s finding he quite enjoys it. It’s easy to lean into the cushions, casually drape his arm over the back of the sofa, angle himself towards Kravitz, and he’s immediately rewarded by Kravitz’ own slight-but-deliberate movement towards him, within the range of Brad’s hand.

“Well,” Brad says. “I suppose I manage how the Bureau runs. Lucretia sets direction and deals with the larger strategic issues, and I make them happen.” He takes a drink, thumbs briefly at Kravitz’ shoulder. “How long have you been doing… this?”

Kravitz groans. “Don’t ask me _that_ , I don’t know and even if I _did_ the answer would be terrifying. At least a few centuries, everything gets fuzzy after a while.”

“How long do you _have_ to do it?” Brad asks, curious. “I mean- can you _quit_?”

Kravitz looks thoughtful. “I’d probably have to move on if I quit.” He says it so casually Brad doesn’t immediately parse it, and when he realises what Kravitz means his stomach swoops. “Most of us have to work off an indenture. I’ve forgotten what I owe on mine.” He gives Brad a look. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your double question, cheater. What does Charity do? Seems a bit more involved than organising your diary and taking your calls.”

“She could do my job very easily were I hit by a train tomorrow,” Brad agrees. “We’re a good team. Nominally she’s a secretary but it’s much more like an executive officer.” And, because it seems obvious, “What is it like working in a team with… Taako's family?”

He’s not quite sure what he’s expecting. A good natured groan, maybe, or enthusiastic positivity. What he’s not expecting is for Kravitz to pause, look tired, and put his drink down on the table.

“I’m sorry,” Brad says, immediately. “I don’t mean to-“

“No,” Kravitz says. “It’s-“ A sigh. “They are actually quite good at the job, if you ignore the failure to take any of the paperwork seriously. But they’re all very close, you know, all of the-”

“Reds.” Everyone knows. “Yes.”

“I have been… folded into that arrangement, very neatly.” Kravitz frowns, and it’s easy to forget everything that’s strange about him, while he’s wearing this very human expression of confusion and uneasiness. “I’m not used to being part of something so close-knit. There’s not a lot of room to move, I’ve found.”

“I apologise,” Brad says, immediately. “I didn’t mean to- and the point of this isn’t to talk about Taako, I-“

“You know,” Kravitz interrupts, and leans back over to pick up his glass; somehow moves closer again in the course of the movement. “I realise I’d quite like to talk about him to someone else, for once. The whole…” he taps at his temple. “Debacle.”

Brad can’t help how startled he must look, realises he’s been operating on a completely unfounded assumption. “The- the voidfish broadcast? I thought that must have been- you might have had something similar-“

Kravitz shakes his head. “Never. It’s been.” He clicks his tongue. “Very, _very_ weird. And that’s coming from _me_.”

Brad is a little ashamed of the rush of relief but not enough to stop himself saying, “It’s _incredibly_ weird,” rapidly, before swigging his beer. “It’s difficult to distinguish between my own memories and everything else. Which parts he’s told me and which parts I just _know_. And I’m very uncomfortable with how one-sided it is.”

“So is Taako,” Kravitz says. “In case you hadn’t picked up on that yet.”

“I had. Is this- you mentioned a small circle-“

Kravitz tips his glass at Brad. “Yes, precisely. Hard to get past the discomfort unless he knows you already. I’m easily included, I don’t bring a great number of other people with me.” He smiles an ironic little smile. “Oh, that’s _very_ morose, isn’t it.”

Brad finds himself a little grateful for Kravitz’ self-absorption at that moment, because he’s thinking about his own family, and how he won't be able to keep this from them for long. And how he doesn't want to.

"But luckily for both of us I'm hopelessly fond of him," Kravitz is saying. "Even if he's forever complaining about Lucas Miller and saying spiteful things about the McDonald child's betrayal.“

"I've been curious about that," Brad says. "This school. What… is it? How does it work? What’s the-" 

Kravitz is laughing, and shrugs hugely. "You know, I haven’t any idea? " He waves a hand. "You should ask him about it, it seems like ‘logistics’ is probably something he could use a hand with."

Being able to contribute to something important to Taako is appealing, but Brad can’t help feeling apprehensive. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

And then the lights dim, and there’s a scattering of applause, and an elf takes the stage. Kravitz says, “Oooh, a gold piece says she’s a poet,” in an obvious stage whisper, to which Brad finds himself murmuring “A round of drinks says flute,” and then grins, victorious, when she pulls out panpipes.

“Fine,” Kravitz says, and pokes him in the side. “Double or nothing next time, though.”

~

“Oh, this is almost certainly going to be a sad song about broken hearts,” Kravitz says later.

“I don’t disagree, but show your working,” Brad tells him.

There’s a long pause, and Kravitz finally sighs. “Because he’s a local barista,” he admits, “and I know what’s on his mind.”

“Seems like cheating,” Brad says, mildly. “I think you forfeit that round.”

~

“Percussionist.” Brad doesn’t elaborate, and after a good pause Kravitz shoves him playfully, making very little attempt to disguise how the movement turns into an excuse to feel Brad’s arm through his shirt.

“Why?”

He was drumming on the bar when Brad bought the second round, but he’s not about to tell Kravitz that. “Muscular,” he says, instead. “And he definitely _looks_ like a couch-surfer.”

Kravitz mock-gasps. “You’re so _cruel_ , Brad.”

“Yes,” Brad says. “We’ve established that.”

~ 

The scattered assortment of glasses and bar snack plates on the table in front of them lead Brad to estimate that it’s about eight-thirty when Kravitz leans in close to his ear. He's not sure what he's expecting but Kravitz says, quietly, underneath the ruckus, “Now I know I’m old but this sort of thing just makes me feel _ancient_ , what even _is_ this-“

“It’s not that you’re old,” Brad says. “This is terrible.”

Kravitz chokes on a clearly unexpected laugh. “Telling it like it is, are we?”

“I find myself feeling candid." 

“ _Well_ ,” Kravitz says, and the tone is dangerous, but Brad is just tipsy enough not to mind. “In that case. My turn for a question, I believe, so tell me about _your_ family.” Brad must look startled, because Kravitz props his chin on his hand, half-smiling. “I don’t know anything about them.”

“I’m… it’s very ordinary?” He says, awkwardly. “I’ve got two sisters, I’m the oldest, my family live in the Grey Hills, my parents are-“

Kravitz shakes his head. “Listen to you. These are _people_. Fill them out for me. Names, ages.”

Which is how Brad ends up explaining his family tree to a grim reaper over a background of mediocre post-punk. It’s pleasant to talk about himself like this; Kravitz seems genuinely interested and it feels good, to do the work of forging an actual connection based on something real. And it helps that when Kravitz leans in for emphasis Brad could quite easily bend down to kiss him. If he wanted.

He decides to wait. It’s enjoyable, spinning this out.

~ 

“Another sad ballad, I think.”

“No contest,” Kravitz says. “You’re very good at this game.”

Brad smiles faintly. “What do you think I spent all my time doing at college?”

Kravitz points at him enthusiastically. “ _College_ , of course, I want to know more about-“

“Oh no,” Brad says, smug. “Your turn to answer a question.”

~

It's very late, by now, Brad decides. He could just look at his watch, but his hand is preoccupied, curled as it is around Kravitz' hip. Kravitz himself is leaning against Brad's chest, ruminating on some finer point of court history that Brad is following with relative difficulty.

The music has been over for some time now - there'd been quite a few good acts in the back end, and while Brad had occupied himself trying to goad Kravitz into giving his own performance he'd remained resolute. And now they're talking idly in that slightly fuzzy-eyed way of people who haven't quite built up their willingness to leave the venue.

"So there was a period where we were all quite invested in writing barely-disguised pop operas about how much we disliked eachother - I'm still _quite_ proud of mine-“

Brad curls his other hand around Kravitz' chin, tips his head up. "It's late," he murmurs, enjoys the shiver and spark in Kravitz' eyes.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" he murmurs back. And Brad could quite easily return fire, keep the volley going until the tension is unbearable, but instead he leans down and kisses Kravitz softly. He’s clearly expecting it; he sighs a pleased little noise into Brad’s mouth, pulls back to say, “Well, finally.”

“You could have sped things along by asking,” Brad comments, and presses another soft kiss to Kravitz’ jaw.

“Mmm, but then I’d’ve been the direct one,” Kravitz says. “Not my thing.”

“I’m sure you can manage with practice,” Brad says into his ear, low, as Kravitz squirms in his hold. He refrains from tightening his grip. “Here, practice. Tell me what you want.”

Kravitz looks - taken aback, and then flustered, but he doesn’t look away from Brad’s face. It’s fascinating, following as it does on the heels of his relatively frank description of how far removed his life is from day-to-day mundane affections like this, but- very sweet.

“I’d like- well. I think I’d like to go home again, first,” Kravitz says, vowels lengthening as his accent slips, turns exaggerated. He’s _nervous_ , dodging directness with a persona, which-

“It’s a start,” Brad says, and draws Kravitz to his feet. It’s a good thing, too, because the bar staff are starting to collect empty glasses a little more loudly than strictly necessary in the universal gesture of ‘please leave’, which Brad is quite happy to comply with.

Once they’re outside, the cooler air clears his head, and Kravitz too looks calmer - he lengthens his stride to match Brad’s and stretches again. He smells like the cafe, coffee and beer and woodsmoke. “I don’t remember who won the game,” Kravitz remarks. “We should have been playing for something other than drinks.”

“I definitely won,” Brad says, blandly. “I get to choose the next date, I suppose.” It feels like a natural thing to say, and he’s gratified by the grin on Kravitz’ face.

“That’ll be the third one,” Kravitz says, and widens his eyes. “Do you know I think there’s something that’s supposed to _happen_ after a third date? I can’t recall what, though, sometimes my memory fails me in my old age-“

“We can feel it out together,” Brad says dryly. And Kravitz leans into his side, laughing quietly, so Brad wraps a hand around his narrow shoulders, and it feels- very pleasant. “What would you have sung?” Brad asks. “If I’d managed to convince you.”

Kravitz looks thoughtful, even as one of his hands slides into the pocket of Brad’s jeans, over his ass. “It probably depends on the crowd. I’d say tonight probably called for some sort of folk song, something recognisable.” Brad gives him an expectant look, and Kravitz shakes his head, but it’s feeble.

Brad bends down just enough, so he can say “Go on,” directly into Kravitz’ ear. He can’t miss the full-body shiver when they’re standing so close together; gratifying, that.

“You’re awful,” Kravitz says. “Fine, fine.” He clears his throat. “Do you know The River Armere? _My love and I met on a warm summer’s day-_ ”

“ _-by the banks of the River Armere_ ,” Brad sings. Harmonises, for the sake of the reaction, and he’s not disappointed; Kravitz stumbles over the start of the next line, coughs. 

“Wait, wait,” he says. “That was _lovely_ , let’s - how well do you-“

“I know it well enough to sing the other part,” Brad says. “If you like. But a bit of an odd choice for a date, isn’t it? Death stole my lover from me?” And as Kravitz raises his eyebrows and gestures at himself, a half-smile dancing over his face, Brad he realises what he’s said; realises he’d forgotten, in the pleasant haze of the evening, just how bizarre a creature Kravitz is.

“Ah,” he says. “Does that mean you empathise with the thief?”

“I appreciate a multiplicity of perspectives,” Kravitz says. “But it’s likely the song was actually written about one of us.” He smiles winsomely. “It’s something of an unofficial theme.”

“What’s it like,” Brad says, overwhelmed by curiosity yet again. “You seem… very much alive.”

“This,” Kravitz says, and presses a long-fingered hand over his heart, “is a construct. It’s as realistic as I want it to be, although some things are harder to turn on and off than others.” He grins. “I try to remember things like breathing and blood to keep everything comfortable for my favourite mortals.” 

“You don’t breathe?” Brad says, startled.

“Don’t need to,” Kravitz says, cheery. “But Taako told me it was _‘too fuckin’ freaky to wake up at 2am and have you lying there still as a damn corpse’_ , so I got in the habit.”

Brad takes a deep breath, lets that one go past for now. "Right. Well. The River Armere, then?"

Kravitz grins up at him. "Count us in, will you?"

~ 

Kravitz is startled to find that the walk home rapidly becomes his favourite part of the night. By the time they reach the apartment building, Kravitz has taught Brad three extra verses of The River Armere, all exceptionally dirty, and Brad has updated the old fashioned vocabulary Kravitz has been using for far longer than he cares to admit. They're both belting out the mournful final chorus - _Now I walk the banks of the river alone, until Death returns once more, for me_ \- for the third time, when Kravitz finally sighs and claps his hands together. "Brad Bradson, you're a delight. Now I have to admit to you that I didn't actually bring keys, but luckily enough we don't need them." He loops his arm through Brad's, says, "Ready?" and without waiting for a response he pulls them both through the cold into the kitchen.

Brad stumbles a little, but rights himself quickly.

"We need to establish some sort of protocol around that," he says, dryly, looking around the dim apartment. "I'm guessing Taako isn't home yet."

"No," Kravitz says, swaying into Brad’s space, trying not to grin too obviously. "It's just you and me. How would you like to pass the time?”

“Come here,” Brad says, smiling faintly. There’s still no room for argument; even relaxed like this - Kravitz would even dare to call him _cheerful_ \- there’s nothing about the instruction to suggest there’s any give in it. Kravitz is used to double meanings, plausible deniability, a sheen of flashy cleverness, and he can’t deny the pull of Brad’s directness. He crosses the kitchen to Brad, who tips his chin up, bends down, kisses him. And Kravitz, in the spirit of keeping things moving in the right direction, lets himself moan loud and enthusiastic.

Brad walks him backwards towards the sink and presses him against the counter, bracketing his hands to either side of Kravitz’ hips; it’s not a particularly confining gesture, but the promise is there.

“You caught me,” Kravitz says, mock-dismayed. He lets his gaze wander up and down Brad’s arms. The moonlight pouring in through the window lights up his jaw and his forearms, below the rolled sleeves. “Oh dear.”

Brad slides his hands up Kravitz’ arms and leans in to kiss him again. The scrape of fangs on his face, and the expectant, coiled force behind the casual grip on his shoulders thrills Kravitz right down to his toes. And when Brad nudges a leg in between his own his knees wobble under him, all the day’s expectation and the slow build of arousal finally hitting him now that he’s properly pinned against his own kitchen bench.

He pulls back, scrabbles at Brad’s sides where he’s rested his hands. “Look, I’m- not that I’m not all for a bit of a slow dance, usually, but we’ve been- this has been going on for _quite_ some time now, and I’m-“

“Starting to make demands,” Brad says. “Politely, I suppose, which is to your credit.” His hand is flat against Kravitz’ spine, holding him in place as Brad leans in and bites at his neck. Hard enough that Kravitz yelps, gone rigid and resisting; until a second later when the rush of it turns his bones to water and he sags back down against Brad’s thigh with a whimper.

“You certainly _react_ like that’s a real body,” Brad comments, sounding so curious that Kravitz has to crack his eyes open to look. 

“It _is_ real,” he says, breathy. “For the time being, anyway, I might dial up the sensitivity if you keep teasing.” He can see Brad decide not to ask any more questions about that, but he does bury a hand in Kravitz’ hair and tug, firmly.

The noise he makes is quite something, clearly, because Brad immediately says “Are you all right?” His tone is light, but his expression is serious, eyes dark with want. His spare hand covers Kravitz’ hand on his hip, a thumb stroking his wrist. “Is this what you want?”

The sincerity catches Kravitz off guard. He almost can’t resist the pull of it, but he does want to tease, a little. “What’s _this_ , exactly?”

Brad smiles again. “Your date has been very nice,” he says. “You’ve made up for showing up at my office without an appointment.”

“Do I get a reward?" 

“Cheeky,” Brad says, amused. “What do you want?”

“What do _you_ want,” Kravitz counters. “Only it seems like you’re one for directing.”

Brad gives him a near-unreadable look, and then says, serious, “I’ve been drinking.”

“You seem in charge of your faculties,” Kravitz says. “And I wouldn’t spend any time worrying yourself on my behalf.”

“I’m not that chivalrous,” Brad agrees, that same half-smile from before playing around his face. “I just want to be upfront about not doing any hitting.” He says it so casually, leg still pressed up against Kravitz’ groin. “One drink is the limit.”

Kravitz clucks his tongue. “I suppose we’ll just have to fuck, then.”

Brad laughs a little but sobers quickly. "Kravitz."

"Yes?"

"You did speak to Taako about this, didn't you?" His thumb is still stroking Kravitz' wrist. "All of it? Only I- it's important to me that all of this is transparent."

"Not that chivalrous, he says." Kravitz smiles. "I think you're understating your case. And yes, I did. As soon as I brought it up he behaved as though it was taking all he had not to immediately drag me into bed at the thought, so I imagine he approves, although he's probably still getting used to the idea."

Brad is also clearly still getting used to the idea; he has a faraway expression as he processes this, and then nods. "All right."

It's hard, sometimes, to keep things in perspective, dealing with people whose lives are so short. "Listen, Brad, I understand the hesitance, but nothing ever feels normal until it becomes the norm, yes?"

Brad's expression is wry. "None of this will ever feel normal. But yes. You're right." He breathes in. 

And then— everything sort of falls sideways onto another track. When Kravitz thinks about it later he isn’t sure what happened, exactly, but he knows in the moment that Brad is fully embracing the role. Because then there’s a firm hand on his chin, and another in his hair, and those twin points of pain - one sharp, one dull - stun him, leave him whimpering and clinging to Brad’s belt.  

"Shall we go to bed," Brad says, conversationally, like this is his apartment, his space. "I wouldn't want your coworkers to walk in on you like this."

The hot flash of embarrassment at the thought curls in his belly, heating his skin. "Say no more, I'm convinced," he manages. "Please, let me-"

Brad steps back, a very deliberate movement, giving Kravitz just enough room to slide past him. “After you.”

Walking up his corridor with Brad half a pace behind should _not_ have any sort of effect on him, let alone making him acutely aware of everything he’s doing: the empty air between him and the man behind him, the frustratingly clothed state both of them are _somehow still in. A_ nd yet-

He’s barely stepped over the threshold of the room when Brad slides in behind him, wraps his arms around Kravitz’ own, pinning them to his body. “You said you wanted to _fuck_ ,” Brad says, a low rumble in his ear, the crack of the expletive deliberately filthy.

Kravitz wriggles a little, but the grip is solid and he sags back into it soon enough. “Oh, _can_ we?” he says, coy. “You didn’t let me earlier.”

“Turn around.” Brad’s grip loosens, just enough, and Kravitz turns to look at him; sees amusement there, and lust, and a wry attempt at continuing the game, and it all just seems so wonderful and silly that it’s all he can do not to just drag them both backwards onto the bed and kiss Brad senseless.

"What are you going to _do_ to me," he says instead, trying not to let his laughter too obviously into his voice. "You terrible man."

“I haven’t decided yet," Brad says, but he's trying not to laugh too; at least until he fixes his teeth into the junction of Kravitz' shoulder and bites down.

Kravitz wails, breathy from the laughter. "I-I can't- this is _outrageous_ -"

“Get undressed,” Brad says, into his ear.

It’s a race, then - he takes his clothes off physically for the show of it, and Brad strips with near-military efficiency, then shepherds them both back onto the bed. It doesn't feel completely different, exactly; Brad is still Brad, he of the firm sure hands and smug half-smile and quiet commands. But without the artifice, the scenario, the _game_ , this all feels so far removed from any of their time before that he may as well be a different person.

But things diverge; Brad's hands grab his hips, true, but there's a veneer of sweet insistence over the command; and as Kravitz leans over him and straddles his thigh - which coalesces the thudding desire in his throat into a white-hot spike - Brad leans up instead to press a kiss to his throat, underneath his ear.

The smell of him floods Kravitz' senses - sweat, a faint herbal something he guesses is shampoo, cedar, the last traces of the cafe. It all feels so overwhelmingly mortal for a moment, and he can't help the thin sound trickling up and out of his throat as Brad's mouth traces a wet path down to his collarbone.

Kravitz' head tips back and his eyes fall closed as Brad tugs him closer, hand snaking around his side to settle in the small of his back. "So," Brad says, into his skin. "You're noisier than I'd expected."

Kravitz is dimly aware of the soft sound he's making; clamps his mouth shut, before opening it to complain, "I didn't realise silence was a requirement." In truth, he wasn't really thinking about it; their house is firmly warded, and his own apartment isn't spatially located anywhere he'd have to worry about neighbours. Noise has never been a concern.

"Oh, it isn't," Brad says, in between- it's not really kissing any more, rather a hot, open-mouthed trail up the other side of his neck. Kravitz lets his head tip to the side; still doesn't open his eyes. "It's very sweet. Although I would like to see you try to be silent, another time." He thumbs at Kravitz' chin. "For now-"

They're kissing, then- urgently, Brad's fangs scraping at Kravitz' cheek and his hand gripping hard at Kravitz' jaw, tongues wet and messy. Kravitz is aware of how enthusiastically he's moaning into Brad's mouth but doesn't have it within him to care, at all, one _whit_ , not when Brad is finally nudging his legs apart again, pulling him forward to clamber gracelessly into Brad’s lap. Kravitz curls his arms around Brad's neck, anchors himself against the wave of neediness prompting him to whine and writhe and race towards orgasm. He is not typically an impatient being, but he's also not accustomed to waiting.

He swallows, pulls back, opens his eyes; is at least a little gratified to see Brad's own expression is bare and hungry and focused in on his mouth, which he can feel is slick with spit. So he takes a small leap of faith and places his palm in the centre of Brad’s chest; doesn’t miss how the grip on his hips tightens, fractionally. He leans in at the same time as he presses forward, and is delighted when Brad leans up into the kiss.

There’s a simplicity to how things progress from there which feels thrilling. Not that he hasn’t rolled around with Taako on their bed, clumsily grinding, but that’s probably how it creeps up on him; he’d come into this with some sort of nebulous plan to do something obscene, something to justify how oddly skittish he’d felt about it. Instead he finds himself rolling his hips against Brad’s thigh, revelling in how quickly and efficiently some lazy kissing and a muscular form send his head spinning.

He’s caught by surprise when Brad finally says “I’m going to touch you, now,” and surprises himself further with how wrung-out his voice is when he gasps assent.

Brad nudges him to the side and rolls over to prop himself above Kravitz. The movement feels urgent, almost needy, and Kravitz processes the slick, obvious trail he’s left on Brad’s thigh and the answering smear of precome on his abdomen.

Kravitz watches Brad slide a deliberate thumb through the mess, lift his hand to Kravitz’ face, and then it’s the taste of salt and sweat on his tongue as Brad pushes the digit into his mouth. He sucks, eagerly, and it’s Brad who finally swears quietly under his breath, pulls his hand back, plants it in the sheets next to Kravitz’ head. Kravitz reaches up to wrap his own hand around Brad’s wrist, an anchor.

“This won’t be artful,” Brad says, low, and Kravitz wants to reassure him that he doesn’t really care about artfulness but then there’s a large, warm hand curled around his cock, and Brad’s, and Kravitz moans instead.

It doesn’t take much time - not after so long waiting - and it’s not really in Kravitz to be ashamed of how loud he is when he comes. Particularly not when Brad follows him over seconds later, the pulse of his cock against Kravitz’ own turning the aftershocks sweetly intense.

Brad slowly lowers himself to the side, and Kravitz realises all of a sudden he’s still gripping Brad’s arm. He lets go, a little embarrassed, but Brad just touches his jaw; traces the line of it.

“All right?” he says, quiet, and Kravitz nods. He fits himself up along Brad’s body, his head on Brad’s shoulder, as the orc hums away the worst of the mess.

They have been lying in comfortable silence for a few minutes when Kravitz - who’s been internally cataloguing the entire experience - props himself up on his elbow on Brad’s chest. “You know, you’re really not a great big cruel disciplinarian at all.”

“What do you mean?” Brad’s voice is carefully neutral. 

“I watched you with Taako, and based on what he’d said to me before I made some assumptions.” 

“Ah.” Brad curls one of his hands underneath his head, which seems like it should be a casual gesture but for how keenly he watches Kravitz watching him move, and how triumphant is the small smirk he flashes afterwards. “Did you come into today angling for something more-” and he pauses.

“Physical?” Kravitz suggests. Brad snorts a laugh, but nods. “Not particularly.”

“I didn’t think so either,” Brad says. “Taako plays at being difficult and provocative. You just seemed to want to have a good time.”

“Does this mean I only get spanked if I misbehave?” Kravitz says. It’s meant as a tease, but Brad just looks thoughtful, and strokes a thumb along Kravitz’ jaw.

“You can ask me for whatever you like,” he says, finally. “That’s all Taako is doing, really, although in a roundabout way where he gets to pretend that’s not what it is.”

Kravitz realises he had sort of known, instinctively, that that was the crux of it; that the fake antagonising characters he’d seen both of them inhabit were a tool, scaffolding to build something both of them wanted but for whatever reason weren’t able to discuss. But it’s quite another thing to have it laid out so neatly, and to have Brad openly acknowledge doing the work to accommodate someone else’s needs, however obtuse. He’s used to manipulation, of course - subtlety is their stock in trade - but it’s refreshing to see it used for everyone’s benefit.

“Clever,” he says, admiring, and when Brad rolls his eyes a little Kravitz presses down against his chest. “I’m being serious, it _is_ clever.”

“Do you think you’d like something _physical_?” Brad says, ignoring Kravitz’ insistence on the compliment, but he thinks he can see heat in the orc’s cheeks anyway. He decides not to make a big deal of it.

“I’ll do whatever makes either of you happy,” Kravitz says, sunnily. “I like most things.” Brad frowns, and looks like he's about to argue, so Kravitz pokes him in the chest. "I can certainly take far more than you dished out tonight."

"A challenge," Brad says, amused. His hand curls over Kravitz' hip, starts tracing patterns over his back with the point of a nail. It's so unexpected and yet so idle that Kravitz feels himself relaxing down onto Brad's torso. "Well," Brad continues, voice thrumming through both of their bodies. "You tell me what you want to try, and I'll let you know what you can have."

Kravitz hums and breathes in the smell of Brad's sweat. "Will do," he says.

He’s ready to settle into a long stretch of being caressed, when he hears the faint-but-undeniable sound of someone clumsily unlocking the door of the apartment.

"We've got company," he says, but Brad has already shuffled closer towards him; making space.

It feels strange, Kravitz decides, but not in a bad way. It's not as though Taako will be surprised to see either of them like this, but it still feels like a threshold has been stepped over, something new and significant settling heavily over them.

As it is, when Taako enters the room with the thudding footfalls of the intoxicated, Kravitz is amused to note he barely acknowledges the situation.  Instead he makes a beeline to the bed without saying anything and tips over onto it, burying his face in the sheets.

“Good evening to you, too,” Kravitz says, and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like a dive bar.”

“You smell like sex,” Taako retorts, muffled. He looks up, blinking, and gifts both of them with a wobbly smile. “Hi.” Presses his face back into the sheets, which Kravitz suspects may be to avoid too obviously telegraphing his feelings; he's probably exerting some effort to keep his ears neutral.

“Did you have a nice time?” Brad says. It’s almost awkward, which Kravitz finds terribly endearing.

Taako's shoulders tense, relax. “Mmm. Yeah. She's probably gonna have to come over for brunch or something one time.” He yawns, wiggles closer. “I’m gonna just- close my eyes, for a sec-“ 

“Oh no you don’t,” Brad says, firmly. “Get up and drink a glass of water.” Taako groans, exaggerated, but he does as he’s told, even if he mutters, _fuckin’ straight-edge sensible-ass accountant asshole_ as he’s doing it.

“‘Plays at being difficult and provocative,’” Kravitz murmurs.

Brad’s expression doesn’t crack but Kravitz can feel him suppressing a laugh. “Maybe I’ll punish you for being a cheeky smartass.”

Kravitz stretches, luxuriates in the parts of him which are sore, and relaxes back into his place against Brad’s side. “Oh no,” he says, deadpan. The sound of Taako pottering about in the bathroom, the rise and fall of Brad’s ribs, the memory of their voices harmonising in the street - all things he’s stumbled accidentally into caring about, very much - burrow deep into his chest, all at once. “That sounds just terrible. I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks, as always, to Goose, who did a ton of work on this (and very patiently helped me with my crisis of "I DON'T KNOW HOW TO MAKE THEM HAVE SEX" in the middle of it). Both Gulch and Goose have also done a bunch of yelling which is always damn delightful.
> 
> Title is from [Ben Lee's "Apple Candy"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40dNR5XPI7I), which I'm extremely pleased with myself for getting into this series.


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